


Refurbished

by orphan_account



Series: Established Relationship [4]
Category: due South
Genre: Bondage, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kowalski rehabs a coffee table from Goodwill.  Then refurbishes Vecchio.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Refurbished

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Desiree Armfeldt for giving me some very insightful comments about Vecchio which I then crudely appropriated (pretty much at the last minute) in service to base pornography.

Ray tried very hard not to writhe. He was stark naked, tied to a huge coffee table, anchored to its legs by his own neckties. Writhing was definitely called for in this situation, he thought. If he writhed, no one would blame him. But Ray didn’t really want to give Kowalski the satisfaction of seeing him writhe, especially since Kowalski didn’t seem to be particularly inclined to give _Ray _any kind of satisfaction anytime soon.__

“Told you the coffee table was a good buy,” Kowalski said from somewhere above and beyond Ray’s head. Ray couldn’t see him, but at least he could still see in general. So far, only four of his ties were in service: one for each wrist and each ankle. Three other ties, though, were lying in wait, draped casually across Ray’s chest.

They’d barely gotten started and Ray was ready to admit that Kowalski was right about the coffee table. The other coffee table, modern and chrome and glass and really more the kind of thing Stella would like, would have been impossible for this. Flimsy, more about function than form, it would have collapsed under him and an embarrassing trip to the ER would’ve resulted. But this coffee table, which Ray had thought was a passing Goodwill whim of Kowalski’s, was perfect for this. For supporting a naked, grown man whose lover had plans.

Kowalski had picked it up on the sly, sort of. Ray had worried that he was kidding about the coffee table when they returned home from Goodwill with a box of kitchen gadgets and a few other odds and ends but no furniture. It turned out, though, that Kowalski had tagged it for later pickup. Ray had watched in disbelief as he lugged it into their apartment one night, shoving it with a mighty effort into their bare third bedroom, which was so small the surprisingly large table took up almost the entire floor surface. The idea behind the third bedroom had been that they’d have a joint home office, but their particular method actually involved spreading case files and paperwork all over the living and dining combination room, with the spillover going in the kitchen or the guest room. They managed to stick to their rule of never bringing the job in their bedroom; even the weapon they kept in that room wasn’t a service firearm. It was, in truth, not a firearm at all, but more of a baseball bat. The guns went in a coded safe in cupboard above the fridge.

So Ray watched as Kowalski finally maneuvered the damn thing into the tiny room. “Jesus, that thing is hideous,” he’d bitched. “How is pickled fucking oak more awesomely of the twenty-first century than what we have now? You’ve advanced our décor by a whopping seven years. Well done.”

“Hey, they were a pretty good seven years,” Kowalski defended his purchase. “Plus, Vecchio my friend, I am not about to _leave _it like this. This, I can refurbish. Chrome and glass? Maybe I can make picture frames.”__

“The glass is smoky!” Ray responded, not sure whose side he was even arguing anymore.

Kowalski grinned at him. “See, even you know that table cannot be repurposed in any meaningful fashion. Although putting my wedding photos under smoked glass would be like one of those art installation thingies. Symbolical and all. You got any you want to share?”  
Ray threw his hands up in a gesture that was not at all like the sort his mother would make. “Just do it, Kowalski. Whatever it is you have to do. Just don’t come crying to me when you get brain damaged from the paint fumes. _Especially _don’t come crying to me when you get brain damaged and everyone thinks you’ve actually improved.”__

The Dozens sufficiently played, Ray wandered off to look for a sporting event on TV. Any sporting event. Not that Kowalski had appreciated the perfect beauty of Ray’s insult. Kowalski was already fondling and stroking his table, visions of sandpaper roughing it up in his head.

Over the following days, Ray had peeked in on Kowalski from time to time as he worked on the table. Christ that thing was huge. Ray was pretty sure it had started out as a dining table and gotten cut off at the knees. “Getting it on with your little project?” he inquired as he brought Kowalski a beer one time. Kowalski was sweaty, wearing very little, and covered with a fine layer of grit. Ray gulped at Kowalski’s beer, which was really doing the man a favor since drinking and sanding were a bad mix. Probably. That Ray’s throat went unexpectedly dry at the sight of Kowalski intently focusing on grain and grit had nothing at all to do with it. Kowalski suddenly looked up at Ray. 

“Hey,” he said. “Was that beer supposed to be for me? Because if so, I’m not really sure you’ve got a handle on the whole mine versus yours distinction.” Ray hadn’t realized he’d nearly finished it in one go. Jesus, this was no time to turn into his old man.  
Something like distress must’ve crossed his face, because suddenly Kowalski moved gracefully to his side. “Hey, it’s okay, whatever it is,” he said softly.

“It’s nothing,” Ray said. One beer, however hastily consumed, did not equal decades of alcohol and domestic abuse. Kowalski didn’t look entirely convinced that Ray was over his momentary freak-out, so Ray kissed him instead. He kissed him long enough and with enough attention to detail that Kowalski didn’t even notice that he was naked until Ray was already lowering him to the floor.

“Hey, when did that happen?” Kowalski asked, laughing. Ray had him on the sheet Kowalski had put under the table to protect the floor, and as far as Ray was concerned, all Kowalski needed to know was that he was naked, horizontal and under Ray. How he got there was the least of his concerns.

Kowalski realized it, too, shivering as Ray really went to work on him. Just kissing him, except that in Ray’s book there was no such thing as “just kissing.” Kissing was making love in itself. Kowalski understood that and was making low, greedy noises in his throat.  
Ray pulled back long enough to mutter, “Don’t want anything fancy.” He didn’t. The smell of the wood, the sight of Kowalski, the feel of the sheet bunched up under his hands where they supported his weight…. Ray just rubbed against Kowalski, not caring that his clothes were getting covered with Kowalski’s sweat and even the grit from Kowalski’s stupid coffee table.

“No, just like this, do it, c’mon, Raimundo, show me what you’ve got,” Kowalski agreed disjointedly.

Ray gave him friction and more kisses while Kowalski wrapped his legs around Ray’s ankles and shoved up against him, Kowalski’s naked cock pushing against Ray’s trousers.

“Jesus, yes, Stanley, like that,” Ray gasped against Kowalski’s mouth and it wasn’t long before Ray ruined his trousers from the inside as well.

Ray rolled off to one side while Kowalski laughed in the aftermath. “That would have been a good extra-whatsit for shop class,” Kowalski said. Ray didn’t care. Shop class was a long time ago, but the coffee table was looming over them with the promise of future adventures.

And now Ray was smack in the middle of such an adventure. He wiggled against the table; Kowalski had given him a little slack with the ties, but not much. Just enough that Ray could appreciate the smooth coolness of Kowalski’s paint job.

“Give you enough time, maybe you could feel the brushwork,” Kowalski said from somewhere beyond Ray’s head.

“Christ, don’t give me enough time,” Ray said. That would take hours of Zen-like concentration, and he kind of wanted to get off soon, or at least soonish. There was something nearly unbearably sexy about the care with which Kowalski had arranged him on the table, first stripping off his clothes, then running his hands all over Ray’s body, using the same focus and concentration he’d lavished on the table. Murmuring things like, “So good, so beautiful.” Ray wanted to protest, to shush Kowalski’s praise; it embarrassed him. But he got the feeling Kowalski wasn’t really even talking to him, but rather to himself.

Kowalski carefully arranged Ray on the table, smoothing him down here and there until Ray wasn’t sure if Kowalski didn’t think of Ray himself as some kind of project. Maybe the _same _project as the table. He’d mentioned tying Ray to the table back at the Goodwill, so maybe he was part of Kowalski’s art installation thingy.__

Ray got more okay with that thought by the second, and the thought of being on display, which normally did the opposite of good things to him, made him kind of excited. As long as Kowalski was the only audience. The whole notion was so distracting that all Ray did as Kowalski carefully tied his wrists and ankles to the table legs was murmur assurances that nothing was too tight.

Even once Ray was secured to the table, Kowalski continued to work on him, picking up one of the extra ties, wrapping it around his hand and running it gently over Ray’s skin. Ray’s breath stuttered and he wondered if Kowalski was going to use the tie on every inch of him. It was almost like having his embarrassment, his shame gently rubbed off.

Kowalski was definitely going after every inch of Ray that was exposed to the air; Kowalski wasn’t picking him up to run his tie-wrapped hand under Ray’s back. That didn’t bother Ray that much. He figured that if he asked nicely, Kowalski would flip him over to do his back and even if he didn’t, Ray was mostly on board with what Kowalski was already doing. What did bother Ray was that his cock was extremely interested in having some attention paid to it, Kowalski was resolutely avoiding it, and Ray knew that asking would only make Kowalski smug and even less inclined to hurry the process along.

“Oh, you look good,” Kowalski said appreciatively. He unwrapped the tie from his hand and checked the texture of Ray’s skin with his bare hand. Ray arched, as best he could, into the warmth of Kowalski’s hand, unable to stop himself from whimpering at the new sensation.

“Shh,” Kowalski said, stroking Ray’s forehead. “I’ll get you there.” Ray wondered when the hell Kowalski had gotten so goddamned _patient _. Usually, Kowalski went at Ray like he was going for both speed and finesse and it was up to Ray to slow things down. But Kowalski was in some kind of slow groove; contrary bastard had to discover a wealth of patience just when Ray really needed him to get the lead out.__

Then Kowalski reached for another tie and…Jesus Christ! Kowalski held the tie loosely in his hand, the bottom of it hanging free so he could _paint _Ray’s skin with air and silk.__

“Shit, Stanley,” Ray ground out. “I get it, you’re a fucking master carpenter, you can refurbish anything, even mid-century Italian-American specimens, now would you fucking get me off?”

Kowalski laughed. “The difference between you and me, my friend,” he said, “is that you only _watch _HGTV. I, on the other hand, fucking _live _the DIY Network.”____

Ray was pretty sure it wasn’t just some kind of sex haze that made him utterly unable to process Kowalski’s words as comprehensible language. What the fuck? Ray moaned as Kowalski bunched up part of the tie to make a point and dabbed at his nipples. Was he gonna start comparing them to the History Channel and the Discovery Network next? “How about a little Spice Channel,” Ray said, croaking much more than he meant to.

Kowalski leaned back on his heels and scrunched up his face to indicate Deep Thought. “Yeah. Spice Channel’s good,” he said, and suddenly lunged. Ray’s cock was abruptly engulfed by Kowalski’s mouth and it was so good, it was the best thing _ever _and Ray maybe squeaked a little in surprised pleasure. Not that he would ever admit it.__

But, God, the things Stanley was doing with his mouth! Ray knew from past experience that Kowalski liked cock. Liked touching it, sucking it, getting fucked by it, and fucking Ray with his own. Ray didn’t know how he’d been lucky enough to be the sole focus of Stanley’s enthusiastic love of cock, but he figured he’d have to be celibate for twenty lifetimes in exchange for Stanley’s attention. He was good with that, so good….

“So goddamned good,” Ray gasped out loud, and Kowalski made a little humming noise which was even goddamned better. Then he moved, just a little, but enough that Ray nearly came right then, but Stan was the Man with the Plan and the plan was for Ray’s tie to cover his balls while Kowalski manipulated them through the silk.

“Fuck!” Ray exclaimed. Women always forgot about the balls. He used to have to remind…them…and they’d get all sheepish and say, “Oh, right!” Kowalski knew better. Much better.

Ray bucked against the table, his skin slapping down on the freshly dried paint and it really was a good thing Kowalski had tied him down for this, otherwise it would have been full-body slamming, arms and legs flailing around and mass chaos. Instead, Ray was held under control but with enough slack to pull and strain in ways that were weirdly, wonderfully enhancing his pleasure.

“Gonna come,” he said, which caused Stanley to go down further still and that was it, Ray was gone, moaning or maybe even screaming Stan’s name.

“Jesus,” Ray panted a few minutes later. “I haven’t come that hard in _forever _.”__

“You’re welcome,” Kowalski said, and he’d really cranked up the smug. That was okay. Little bastard had earned it.

“You, uh, want….” Ray tried to assemble the energy, courtesy and words to offer Kowalski a little something in return. Kowalski just held up the tie, which was now liberally covered with spunk. 

“That’s….” Jesus, it was going to be some time before Ray could form complete sentences. Or, you know, _thoughts _.__

“All me,” Kowalski held the tie up as if in pride. “I swallowed yours.”

“Gimme,” Ray growled, and there, at least he’d stopped squeaking. Kowalski lazily obliged, dangling the sullied-beyond-redemption tie over Ray’s mouth. Ray nipped at it, trying the taste of Kowalski on silk. Odd. But good. He could develop a taste.

Kowalski pulled the tie away just as its…bounty…was starting to get unpleasantly cool. Ray was okay with that. Ray was okay with pretty much anything. He rested quietly while Kowalski untied him and rubbed the skin where he’d pulled against the ties. Kowalski had freed him, but really he was disinclined to go anywhere or do anything.

“So much better than picking shards of glass outta your ass,” Kowalski said, because the man believed there was no such thing as a thought better left unshared.

“Hmm,” Ray agreed dreamily.

“Hey, you called me Kowalski. Just now. Hollered it at me when you came. That was actually…pretty cool,” Kowalski said. Ray blinked. 

“Supposed to be Stanley. In bed. Coffee table. Wherever. Kowalski’s that weird guy I work with. Nutjob who splits the rent.”

“Yeah, well, apparently I contain multitudes,” Kowalski said.

“Stop quoting Melville and get back to channeling Norm Abram,” Ray said feebly. Because if he had to choose between poet and carpenter, he’d take the carpenter any way he could get him.

**Author's Note:**

> You're right: that wasn't Melville. Just ask Kowalski; he'll tell you it was Hawthorne.


End file.
